


rest now, for your worries are imagined

by orphan_account



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Soft cowboys, is it angst? idk, maybe edit later, supportive cowboy family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-09 00:41:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17396840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Arthur tried composing himself, tried gathering up each piece of himself that was scattered about in his mind, tried to wade through all of himself that belonged to John and found himself lost.





	rest now, for your worries are imagined

The clear morning sun had settled steadily onto horseshoe overlook, along with light streaks of the rising suns glow permeating through the rustling leaves of the trees, they cast the site in a soft and calming yellow-ish hue. Yellow was one of Arthurs favorite colors, for reasons just like this morning.

Everybody in camp was busy doing one thing or the other. Tilly was helping Pearson in preparing their daily stew in the old, rusty pot behind Pearsons wagon. Jack was refining his reading skills by perusing a storybook that Arthur had given him out loud with Abigail listening attentively. If Arthur recalled correctly, it was the one he had found in Pleasance, called Otis Miller and the Boy from New York. Dutch and Hosea were dug up in Dutchs spacious tent, hushed whispers being shared between the two leaders, no doubt discussing the gangs next big move, be it an actual move of their place or the next robbery they would be committing. Not one person was without significant action. 

Not one person except for John Marston, who was leaning against a tree, looking over the cliff and down at the stream of the river serenely, drinking coffe from one of their many rusty mug. Arthur spotted him pretty quickly after studying the other gang members and noticing the mans absence amongst the rustling and busy people. After watching him closely for a short string of seconds, Arthur strolled towards the other man. 

„Ain‘t you got something to do?“ he started, gruffly, as soon as he was in Johns vicinity, sure that John would hear him and recognize his voice in seconds.

John didn‘t seem surprised, the opposite, in fact. He had expected Arthur showing up. And so he just lowered his hand that was cupping the mug and threw his head over his shoulder to look at Arthurs arriving figure. „And you ain‘t got somebody else to bother?“ he answered as Arthur came to a halt next to him.

„Way more fun with you,“ was Arthurs reply, along with a shove of his shoulder. Silence started forming around them as they both stared off into the far distance, at the mountains so many miles away and at the people rushing by on their horses down below the cliff. Arthur reminisced about their time in the Grizzlies and the memories it brought. Arthur would try thinking about the positives as much as the negatives, but he came up empty handed. The Grizzlies brought the family nothing but blood, death and scars. Figuratively and literally, he thought as he peered at Johns scarred cheek.

John, unaware of the constant wave of thoughts tumbling around in Arthurs head, continued sipping his coffee silently, and as he finished, he sighed contentedly, letting the empty mug hang loosely in his hand. „I heard of an empty building nearby, wanna come?“ 

„For what?“ Arthurs voice cut through the question. His eyebrows were furrowed and his forehead crinkled as he looked at John, who stared back blankly, stared as though Arthur had grown a second head. Arthur was close to checking himself when John elaborated. „See if there‘s anything valuable there. Jesus, Arthur, and you call me dumb.“ 

Arthur tried to argue with the statememt by explaining that he had just woken up, but John wasn‘t listening as he was marching off towards the horses. The older man jogged after him to catch up with him, the quick movement made the chickens they were keeping cackle and run off as he passed them in a hurry. 

When Arthur arrived at the hitching post, John was already waiting for him, comfortably settled on top of Old Boys saddle, impatiently playing with the reins in his hands as he waited for the older man. „Yeah, yeah,“ Arthur said as he mounted his white Arabians saddle, waving his hands towards John in an attempt to get him to calm down.

With John leading the way, Arthur rode slightly behind the other, just so that he could look at Johns scarred profile, reminding him of the way he had almost broken down after him and Javier had rescued him after his encounter with the hungry wolves. How his heart had clenched upon seeing the mans bloody face and how he had distanced himself from every living soul for the entire day afterwards. 

How he had been scared for Johns life and how he hated himself for letting him get hurt. Still did.

To distract himself from further thoughts on the subject, he asked „Where we headin‘?“, to which he got the curt response of „Fort Brennand,“ followed by a rich silence.

Resisting the temptation of glancing at his companion again, he instead focused on their surroundings. Everywhere they went he heard rustling of leaves or bushes as critters that had been residing there rushed out of their hide at the heavy hooves pounding on the ground. The sun was standing high up now, morning having passed to make place for midday. Clouds hanging in front of the beaming light hindered it from blinding Arthur.

They rode past Emerald Ranch, where a young lady whom he had helped a few months ago greeted him eagerly and friendly. He smiled at the gesture secretly as he greeted her back. As John shot him a bewildered look, he just waved his hands and said „Long story.“ And by the glance John threw his way, Arthur saw that John was aware of the fact that Arthur just did not want to talk about it.

The journey went on in silence, only occasionally broken by John announcing the next path they would be taking, and soon they were guiding their horses through the cold stream of the Kamassa River. Arthur noticed the way John tensed up as soon as his legs were emerged in the water, but he didn‘t mention it. Didn‘t even quip about it the way he would have done at any other given time before. But this was unlike any other time. Any other time before, Arthur wouldn‘t have been in love with John. 

The two hopped off of their horses just outside the big doors of the Fort. Whiskey, Arthurs Arabian, suddenly whinnyied and jerked, to which Arthur noticed a rattlesnake slithering and hissing in the grass. He made quick work in shooting and skinning the serpent, stuffing the skin into his already overflowing satchel afterwards. Then he calmed Whiskey down by patting her long neck and stroking through her short fur and continued doing so by feeding her an apple. He felt Johns dark eyes on him the entire time, making him uneasy and self-conscious.

He stepped into the Fort wordlessly, didn‘t even bother checking if John was following him. He told himself that he didn’t care. But John was right behind him, as always. They split up, Arthur covering the left part and John the right. 

Soon enough, Arthur found a cellar in one part of the house adjoined to the wall. „Marston!“ he called out, his deep voice echoing in the small space. Johns steps grew louder as he wandered over, until he stood next to the other man, peering down at the ladder leading towards the basement. „So?“ he asked, to which Arthur simply replied by descending the ladder. 

The basement was fairly dark, so John equipped his lantern and lightened it up, illuminating the room for the two to see. „Arthur, look,“ he suddenly called out, voice raspy as he stood in front of a shelf. On it lay an old knife, Arthur concluded that it was one from the Civil War. „Yeah, this letter as well,“ Arthur said, waving a note in his hand as he grasped the knife, tucking it into his belt. „Civil War,“ he stated finally, before he turned on his heels to inspect the room further.

The two soon left again as the now red glowing sun was starting to settle again, its glimmer dimming until it was only just enough for the two men to be able to see the path in front of them. John decided to keep his lantern burning. 

A short while after they passed Emerald Ranch again, John suggested they camp for the night and get some rest before they make their final way back to camp. At first, Arthur wanted to decline, wanted to spend as little time this close to John as possible. He didn‘t want to have to sleep right next to the person he loved, knowing they didn‘t feel the same way towards him. But as John kept on pestering him about it, he dropped his defenses and gave in. So they set up camp in the Heartlands and Arthur made a fire to keep them warm for the cold night as John was smoking a cigarette, sitting right next to Arthur, watching his every move closely as he blew the smoke from his lips. John still didn‘t blow out his lantern and it was now sitting near the entrance of their tent.

The stars were already shining above them, forming beautiful constellations that Arthur could marvel at for the remainder of his life. Stars among other things. When John haf finished his cigarette, he made his way towards their tent, walking past the lantern, ignoring it, and laid onto his sleeping bag, head resting on his arms. Arthur meanwhile decided to sit down in front of the fire as soon as he got it to burn properly by itself and fished out his journal, sketching everything and nothing. What he saw and what his mind formed for him. His hand was moving swiftly over the page and he just let himself relax for only a few minutes, drawing the landscape in front of him, when John emerged from the tent and sat down on the opposite side of the fire, studying him. Johns gaze quickly averted from Arthur as he began cooking some flesh he apparently had been carrying with him. 

And Arthur took Johns distraction to his advantage and turned the page of his journal to begin a new sketch. The sharp features of Johns face were easy for Arthur to capture, as he has been familiar with them for over fourteen years now and as he has started looking at them more and more over the past months. He was so focused on his sketch that he didn‘t notice John getting up and walk over towards him, peering over his shoulder at the drawing. „Ya didn‘t make me as ugly as you always say I am,“ the raspy voice caught Arthur off guard, making him snap and close the journal in one quick move, his breathing had picked up a fast pace, and his heart was rushing.

And as Arthurs speech was caught in his throat, John simply sat down next to him, hugging his legs to his chest. „It looks beautiful, Arthur.“

Finally being able to form coherent thought again, Arthur croaked out a low „Thanks,“ before he started fumbling with the journal, trying to stuff it back into his satchel. John caught his wrist in his calloused hand and asked „Can I?“. 

Arthur nodded, casting his eyes downwards and softening his grip on his journal, which John quickly replaced by his own possessive hold on it.

He flipped through the filled pages until he reached the most recent one, inspecting the drawing up close now. Arthur could hear him utter astounded sounds, as well as his own blood rushing in his ears. He prayed to all of the Gods that were that John was back to being as dumb as usual and wouldn‘t draw any conclusions as to why Arthur drew him. But the Gods didn‘t seem to be listening to the prayers of the long lost soul of an outlaw.

„I never thought you-" John cut himself off by closing the leather journal and handing it back to Arthur, who busied himself in stowing the book in his satchel. He was looking intently at the flickers of light of the fire flowing up into the air, disappearing in the night before his eyes. The wood crackled as it burned and Arthur wondered if the trees were talking. 

„Yeah, me neither,“ he stated after long stretching minutes of silence.

„Arthur.“ 

Arthur tried composing himself, tried gathering up each piece of himself that was scattered about in his mind. Tried to wade through all of himself that belonged to John and found himself lost. 

He turned his head towards John, expecting to be rejected, be punched, yelled at - anything. Anything except for the gentle fingers carding through the hair on the side of his face and the chapped lips pressed against his.

When John pulled away, he stayed close. Their breaths mingled as their foreheads brushed. And John spoke, softly into the light breeze of the night „Me neither.“.

And as John lowered his head to rest on Arthurs shoulder, burrying his face in the crease of his neck, Arthur noticed that the lantern had burned out. He felt Johns hand reach out for his and he grasped it, squeezing it tightly, saying in that gesture everything he was afraid of speaking out loud. How much he loved John, how he would fight until his last dying breath if it were to keep John save, how he would never cease or falter, how he would always love John, for as long as he would have him. 

When their fire was threateningly close to burning out, John added some wood and poked around the fire with it. And instead of settling back down next to Arthur, he walked towards the camp. „You comin‘?“ he asked as he sat down on his bedroll. Arthur joined him and they settled down quietly. No words exchanged, not disturbing the sounds of nature filtering through, calming their senses.

They were facing each other, Arthurs thumb was slowly stroking the white streaks on Johns face, dreading to think back on how they had arisen. He leaned forward and captured Johns lips in a small kiss again, before he turned onto his other side. He turned over slightly to grasp Johns arm, pulling him ever closer and making him wrap his arm around his waist. John proceeded in burrying his face in the back of Arthurs neck and pulled the older man even closer towards his chest.

They fell asleep just like that, John wrapped around Arthur, reciprocating Arthurs feelings on wanting to protect the other, whatever may come and try to pry them apart. And whataver that may better come prepared, for those two souls will not be separated easily and those two hands will not let go of eachother.

Crickets chirping and birds singing woke Arthur up. He heard the hissing and crackling of the fire and felt something amiss. He was alone in the tent. After swallowing down his rising panic, he went outside to see John brewing them coffee. John greeted him with a big smile and motioned for him to come close and sit down next to him. „Good morning,“ Arthur said, rubbing his bleary eyes as he settled down next to John.

John took a quick glance around their surrounding before he kissed Arthur briefly, stroking his cheek as he retreated. Arthur smiled as he looked at the ground.

They took their time in drinking their coffee and tearing down the camp, they took their time in riding back home and they took their time in hitching their horses, wanting to be near each other for as long as they were able to.

And as they exchanged soft smiled and shy gazes throughout the remainder of the day, they garnered many knowing glances. From Hosea, Dutch, Charles, Abigail, Sadie. Everybody seemed to know, in some way or the other, and everybody seemed to be fine with it. 

And if John started sleeping in Arthurs cot with him and if they started sharing rushed kisses in the safety of the woods, nobody ever mentioned it.

**Author's Note:**

> oof howdy cowfellers i am back with a oneshot of those sad cowboys. i hope you liked it!  
> come talk to me about those guys on tumblr im @oakenshied


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